


i can see this unravelling

by meganekun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Politics, M/M, Rivalry, Self-Discovery, Suppressed Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganekun/pseuds/meganekun
Summary: Most importantly, Iwaizumi Hajime is the first openly bisexual candidate for Japan’s Prime Minister Elections in its centuries-long history. And no matter how much better at rhetorics Oikawa deems himself: his tolerance, openness and transparence are going to cost Oikawa the position he has worked for his entire life. 
Keep your friends close. Your enemies closer. And your irritatingly good-looking political rivals so close you end up creating nicknames for each other.





	

 

 

✧✧✧

 

Oikawa Tooru has always been an inexplicably observant person, but none of these skills are needed right now, as he looks at the face of the man before him.

If they were fictional characters in an anime, there would be an impossibly placed shadow around the inner corners of his eyes and his nose; his pupils might disappear completely, or clouds of steam would evaporate out of his ears, similar to those hundreds of years old trains.

Iwaizumi Hajime is fuming.

"I cannot believe you have the fucking nerve to ask me something like this," he says, the line of his jaw more pronounced than usual – Oikawa knows, because he spends more time tracing it with his eyes than he could ever dream to admit – and his nostrils almost flaring from the angry tension in his face.

What Oikawa can admit is that this side of Iwaizumi intimidates him, even if just a little bit. Everything he has seen of Iwaizumi so far, even caught off-guard, has either been strikingly polite or annoyed in a rather silly, not to be taken seriously way.

It never occurred to him that the other candidate could have been holding back parts of his temper and personality, because despite the many hits Iwaizumi has had to take from Oikawa regarding his nice little just-your-friendly-neighborhood-activist spiel, it _is_ very convincing and quite hard to belittle, considering there isn’t much information available that could discredit it in any way.

Iwaizumi, in this day and time, is the face of Japan’s citizens: the real population, not the one foreigners tend to associate with the island, or one the majority of people in, say, 2016 could freely identify with.

He represents the poor; the free-thinkers; the ones with non-Japanese heritage, but a fundamental understanding of and respect for Japanese culture and mindsets, even the ones he doesn’t agree with; the ones who refuse to conform to hatred and bigotry and the fear it creates.

But most importantly, Iwaizumi Hajime is the first openly bisexual candidate for Japan’s Prime Minister Elections in its centuries-long history. And no matter how much better at rhetorics Oikawa deems himself: his tolerance, openness and transparence are going to cost Oikawa the position he has worked for his entire life.

So what Oikawa asked Iwaizumi was a simple question. Perhaps not a completely professional one – it is not even something he would ask his acquaintances, or people he converses with otherwise – so asking his direct rival _what it is about me that you dislike so much_ might not be very appropriate.

But it’s too late to take it back, and if there are any cameras recording this moment right now, Oikawa is not aware of them. If he’s honest, he cares a little too much about finally getting the answer that has been bugging him for so long, more so than any sort of bad publicity.

And besides, there is something about Iwaizumi’s green eyes – brown framing the irises in a breathtaking gradient – that spikes the level of adrenaline in Oikawa’s blood higher than holding speeches in Shūgiin ever could.

"Excuse me?"

"You’re not excused, Oikawa," his opponent quite literally grits through his teeth, and reaches to the side to take his abandoned champagne glass back.

Oikawa is hell-bound on multi-tasking: first of all, he has to control himself not to get into Iwaizumi’s face about the lack of -san (he’s been doing that ever since their first debate against each other and it is still as infuriating as it was then), second of all, he’s interested in watching Iwaizumi’s completely wrong grip on his glass.

He holds it in his right hand, all five of his tan, thick fingers wrapped around the stem, broad nails turning white because of the pressure. It’s equal parts amusing, because it hints at just how much of Iwaizumi’s composure has dissolved at Oikawa’s charming smile and pointed questions, and irritating, because he can’t even pinpoint what about Iwaizumi’s lack of manners gets under his skin like this, leaving an itch that settles in the pit of his stomach and brings heat to his cheeks.

He watches him down the champagne and tilts his head expectantly.

"It’s rude not to give a straightforward answer when asked a question," Oikawa states, breezily cheerful, before biting the inside of his cheek and adding: "Iwa-chan."

Apparently, this was the absolutely correct button to press, as Iwaizumi dramatically smashes the glass against the top of the fireplace, where it stood just a minute ago – doesn’t even bother to throw it to prevent possible injuries – and power walks towards Oikawa to grab him by the collar and press him against the wall, foreheads almost touching.

Oikawa clenches his fists and tries to keep his poker face, because seeing Iwaizumi so up-close – he could literally count his lashes if he wanted to, or try to see the spots of his natural freckles he covers up with foundation only on days he knows he’s gonna have his picture taken, or watch the colors swirl in his mesmerizing eyes some more–

Iwaizumi is pissed, and whatever this weird obsession Oikawa has with him, regardless of his state, needs to end.

"I don’t want to hear anything about rudeness from you, Oikawa, ever," Iwaizumi says, diction crystal clear, tone low and insistent.

The way he stresses Oikawa’s name makes him forget that that’s all it is – his family name, the name of Japan’s next Prime Minister, hopefully – but not an insult, not the name of a creature so low that it disgusts Iwaizumi to even think about the sound of its syllables in his head.

Oikawa shudders.

"And yet, Iwaizumi-kun, I insist you explain what kind of prejudice you hold against me that had you treat me like an unworthy rival from the start, when I know that’s anything but what I am," he responds, just as quietly, just as sure of his words.

He knows he’s not making this up – there’s something in the way of Iwaizumi being charmed by Oikawa’s nature just like everybody else is, and it’s irritating and wrong and if there’s anything he can do to change it that won’t involve him cancelling his campaign or anything along the lines of that, Oikawa knows he’ll do it without any hesitation.

Whatever bizarre reason might be behind it, he wants Iwaizumi’s respect at the very least, if he cannot get him to like him.

All Iwaizumi does is huff, and it leaves Oikawa’s face warm, because their proximity guarantees them sharing the same air.

"Either you’re so adamant on me spelling it out, or you’re clearly denser than people believe you to be," Iwaizumi murmurs, almost to himself, frustration dripping from his words.

He doesn’t let go of Oikawa, but his grip loosens. Oikawa exhales deeply.

"So spell it out for me," Oikawa whispers, trying to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes, but it seems he’s decided a spot on the wall next to him is more interesting. "Do it."

At that Iwaizumi looks up, his eyes no longer narrowed, though still sharp, still exhilarating, as they’re fixated on Oikawa and Oikawa alone.

A moment passes, where all that happens is the two of them looking at each other. Iwaizumi patiently tries to see through Oikawa: through his façade, through his excuses, through his dorky habits that Iwaizumi knows of because _keep your friends close, but your enemies closer_ ; through the years of hard work, through the nights spent crying over heaps of documents, not feeling good enough, all the attempts at over-compensating and over-sacrificing and over-working.

But the adrenaline in Oikawa’s blood is replaced by something that has always been a part of it, but he never allowed to come out more than necessary – predatory fear, fear of being vulnerable and honest and everything that makes the people love Iwaizumi so much.

Everything that he can’t be because he won’t let himself.

"Maybe it’ll help you feel superior to me, for once in your political career."

So Oikawa shatters the moment to pieces.

It sounds weak. Not worthy of anyone calling himself superior, anyone walking with his head held as high as Oikawa does, but he convinces himself that it’s necessary, before he does something stupid, something he won’t be able to take back or play off like he can this.

Or so he thinks, because when Iwaizumi takes his hands off him the challenging, passionate twinkle in his eyes, the one that he rarely gets in Oikawa’s proximity because of how much he loves to provoke him on grounds that he won’t argue about (unfair grounds, Oikawa must admit) dulls to nothingness.

When Iwaizumi’s eyes light up around Oikawa – sometimes, when the debate is satisfying, when Oikawa gets too carried away to perform his fake teasing – it has an indescribable effect on him. It feels a little bit like those journeys video game characters go on, where they collect power-up items that gift them new powers, often showing up in form of collectable belts or bracelets, and in the end they become bigger and stronger. It feels a little bit like Oikawa is some sort of god, and Iwaizumi’s passion and wit are the prayers that are left behind on his temple, feeding him confidence and power and determination.

Iwaizumi is Oikawa’s ambition, propelling him forwards; just as much as he is his grounding point, reminding him not to leave his head in the sky like he tends to.

But all he can do is push him away.

Iwaizumi straightens up, his mouth in a thin line, chin held upwards, as if mocking Oikawa’s perfect posture. He can’t read any hurt in the green-brown eyes, though Oikawa does know what it looks like – him closing up on Iwaizumi occurs more often than not – and the anxiety of it pulses in his skull.

For once, Oikawa doesn’t know if he went too far, if this was his last chance and he blew it like a careless child blowing dandelion seeds in the wind…

If this isn’t something he can play off, after all.

"Oikawa-san, I am fully aware of how competent you hold yourself to be, and you’re not without talent, but you are a man out of time," Iwaizumi says, and the neutral way in which he does so matches the lack of emotion in his usually expressive eyes.

"Your exposure to the social situation of the people you mean to bring to glory and awareness of your own privilege compared to them amounts to zero. You know nothing of their needs, their worries, the things they fight for, the change they wish to accomplish. All that matters to you is keeping the country afloat, financially and politically – which, in itself, is not a bad goal, but not one to prioritize above the well-being of your people. What do you know about oppression? Cultural integration and appropriation? About systematic normalization that leads to exclusion of anyone who does not fit the traits it promotes?"

Oikawa’s throat dries out. It’s never been pointed out this harshly, this directly to him, how much he still hangs onto the traditional values of his well-off family and advisors, that he’s missing the point of what it really means to care for a nation of people, living and breathing people, all individual, all with problems and troubles.

"I _am_ going to spell it out for you, because I am sick and tired of the circle of people you surround yourself with praising you as the perfect democrat, because you’re not, and you will never be. Not when you say things like _LGBT+ oppression got eradicated in 2016_ in the same breath as _marriage between man and woman is an untouchable ideal,_ or _as far as I’m informed all genders are recognized equally,_ or _there are no major enhancements to be made for our health care system because it is already available for everyone who needs it,_ or that _race and gender preferences in professionally hiring situations are not issues I’ve heard of._ Of course you haven’t! Of course you wouldn’t! Because all that you are is a rich, full-blooded straight cis Japanese kid, whose entire campaign consists of other rich, full-blooded straight cis Japanese kids, and together you think you’re revolutionizing liberty and equality."

"Well guess what, Oikawa-san."

Iwaizumi takes a short moment to let his words sink in. A little bit of feeling returns to his eyes, but it is no longer hope to get through or passion of sharing; it’s something much more awful and final.

"Your _superior_ political career is worth jack shit," he spits, and Oikawa finally recognizes the look he’s giving him.

Iwaizumi is _done_.

Even though this is not really a perfect example – because Oikawa just got _destroyed_ by the only person he believed he could trust in the entire political circle of Japan – he knows when to admit a defeat and retreat into recalibration, so that’s what he does when he lets Iwaizumi look at him one last time with a disgusted curl to his lip and leave.

But before Oikawa thinks he’s ready for recalibration, he allows himself a few moments of absolute freeze, standing without a twitch of movement in the very same position he stood in during Iwaizumi’s speech, with his mind being occupied with nothing else but Iwaizumi’s words in a loop.

 _Your exposure… amounts to zero_ …  _prioritize above the well-being of your people … praising you as the perfect democrat, because you’re not, and you will never be…_ _all that you are is a rich, full-blooded straight cis Japanese kid… Your superior political career is worth jack shit…_

And alhough Oikawa understands and accepts all of the correct claims Iwaizumi has made about his narrow-mindedness, there is something that catches his eye.

He is not the only candidate, or even person Iwaizumi must have encountered who promoted those views (with an irritating attitude on the side).

And yet, Oikawa is the only one who achieved such a reaction from him: he’s sure, because just as much as Iwaizumi managed to find out about and from him, Oikawa knows about him in return. He was an angry child – never intentionally cruel, though frowning more often than not and preferring rough gestures over soft ones – but once he decided on his professional path, gone was all the unyielding hardness, replaced with a trained calm that reached and comforted people. He spent time educating himself in Tibet, does yoga every night and preaches pacifism to anyone who is willing to listen.

And then it clicks.

Educating. Iwaizumi has been trying to help him re-shape his misguided values all along, ever since that debate, but Oikawa never bothered to stop and _listen._

Whatever Iwaizumi’s special interest in helping Oikawa originated from – because, again, this type of approach is clearly different – it’s one Oikawa should have taken seriously, but he didn’t, and now Iwaizumi is gone, and…

Maybe this interest went both ways.

Not the one in helping re-shape misguided values – because none of Iwaizumi’s values are misguided, obviously – but the one in helping. In taking the time to discuss things, share opinions, and enjoy the outcome (if it isn’t too frustrating).

Maybe there had been something blooming between them, something that Oikawa was too scared to indulge in, and his fear and seclusion came off as rejection to Iwaizumi. He can’t really blame him for that assumption.

Maybe Iwaizumi had been trying to give him a chance. Despite not only his annoying attitude, but his downright, what Oikawa recognizes now as  _offensive_ statements, not just to people that Iwaizumi, as a candidate for Prime Minister, has set to protect and defend, but to Iwaizumi himself. To bisexual, mixed Iwaizumi, who grew up working four jobs to ensure he could afford going to university, so that his mother wouldn’t have to overwork herself. Who must have sent hundreds of applications around and only gotten acceptations from a few, because a dark-skinned, muscular young man wasn’t deemed safe and okay for anything but carrying around weights or working on construction sites.

Just to make it more official: Oikawa is a _fucking idiot_.

 

✧✧✧

 

What Oikawa intends to do is a long process.

It's not a matter of how frustrating it is that he can’t just text Iwaizumi whenever he feels like it (whether he’d answer had never been a given, even before this, but it’s become an improbability now), can’t call him because of live show appearance jitters (because Iwaizumi’s steady reassurances that feel a little bit too much like sweet nothings give him confidence like nothing else can).

They do see each other at events from time to time, but never cross ways long enough to converse beyond simple greetings, which Oikawa suspects is partly Iwaizumi’s doing. But he takes it, no matter how miserable it makes him, because this time, it’s not just his self-loathing, but also his common sense that reminds him he deserves it.

Still, Oikawa is not patient enough to refrain from an announcement on social media, from explaining that the decreasing amount of interviews and speeches is due to plans of undertaking fundamental changes in his campaign. _I hear you, I want to understand you as much as I can,_ he means to say, and he hopes Iwaizumi can read between the lines – and still cares enough to do so.

According to the stone cold dismissal of any questions regarding Oikawa and his campaign coming from Iwaizumi and his campaign manager with the unwaveringly sharp tongue, Akaashi Keiji, Oikawa’s hopes are futile.

But Oikawa reminds himself that he’s not just doing this for Iwaizumi. His resolve to become the very best – to occupy the singlehandedly most powerful position in the country – is resolute. He recognizes now that to make this dream come true, he needs to learn the true meaning of justice and fairness and the execution of those.

The only problem standing in his way is the time.

He has exactly half a year – six months – to become not only the politician, but the person that Iwaizumi believed he can be.

But if there is anything Oikawa Tooru knows how to do, it’s fight the odds; so fight the odds he will.

 

 

✧✧✧

 

Naturally, the beginning of the change lies in choosing who gets to stay as a part of his journey, and whom he deems impossible to convince of his new priorities, keeping in mind that he cannot be prejudiced and has to try his luck with everyone.

After an internal gathering Oikawa summons to announce just that, over 80% of his staff leaves right after the report on new goals, one third of them at least having the decency to share their decision with him personally. It is nothing he hadn’t expected, but unfortunate anyway, because some of them had a big presence, especially publically, and their absence is not going to go unnoticed.

Once the gathering is finished, Oikawa locks himself in his favorite office and reminds himself how to breathe. Reminds himself of something he thinks Iwaizumi would say: this is not the end, merely a good beginning, but a beginning based on something unfinished would be like building a castle on an uneven pile of rubbish.

It would only crumble.

But Oikawa won’t.

When he comes out of his office, there is one person left in the big room, and Oikawa regards them curiously.

Messy black bedhead that is currently sticking his nose into the chocolate fountain; Oikawa knows all of his employees – and many now ex-employees – and volunteers alike. This is, without a doubt, one of the latter sort.

"Kuroo-chan?" Oikawa exclaims in a surprised tone, as if he couldn’t believe a man his age could still be capable of doing such childish things.

More like as if he wasn’t mad Kuroo beat him to the one thing he had been looking forward to after the long and excruciating explaining. That bastard.

"Mmff, forry boff man, I’ll be a minute," Kuroo replies, his mouth full with the leftover fruit pieces because, of course, he would eat those separately from the chocolate.

Oikawa suppresses a snort, but allows himself to smirk in evil amusement.

"Take all the time you need, I’ll be here," he assures, slowly making his way down the stairs and thanking fate that he didn’t leave his phone back in the office.

Kuroo is the funniest messy-eater Oikawa has ever seen, and this is definitely going into his gallery. Maybe Iwaizumi would find this fun– never mind.

The promised minute later, Oikawa stops the recording and Kuroo retreats from the chocolate fountain, dabbing at his mouth with a paper towel with a seemingly newfound gracefulness.

"I hope you’re not showing that to anybody other than your girlfriend or something," Kuroo says, and Oikawa gets a good look at his small eyebrows and cat-like eyes, radiating equal parts intelligence and playfulness.

Oikawa isn’t sure what it means that Kuroo let him record just like that – even though he’s an unpaid volunteer, he’s always encountered the black-haired man as drily serious and determined to work his way up the career ladder – but those thoughts are pushed out by the mention of a _girlfriend._ What the hell is Kuroo thinking?

"Relax, Oikawa-sama," Kuroo raises his hands in defense, "I’m just breaking the ice. I don’t think we’ve ever talked, just the two of us, and quite frankly, I don’t think either of us ever wanted to."

Oikawa’s expression, opposing the expectations, relaxes at the bluntness. He thinks he can tell where this is going.

"I assume you have some business with me? If it’s complaints about my desire of more inclusion, especially sexuality wise, I insist you send it in the form of a letter, instead," Oikawa counters, and watches Kuroo’s face carefully.

He looks as if he doesn’t know whether to laugh, though not particularly out of obligation, the way many acquaintances of Oikawa’s always laugh forcibly at his bad jokes. There is something bigger there, but Kuroo settles on a half-smile before Oikawa can begin to read him further.

"Very optimistic humor, I’m impressed," Kuroo nods and elegantly shoves the paper towel into the pocket of his dress pants.

Oikawa nods in return. "Is there anything else you’re impressed by, then?" He asks slyly, running his fingers through his hair.

This time, Kuroo does laugh. "Right to business then, alright."

He tugs at his tie, in an attempt to either loosen or fix it, it’s a bit hard to tell.

"Oikawa-san, I’m here to propose myself as your new campaign manager."

 

 

✧✧✧

 

Oikawa doesn’t take Kuroo seriously, at first.

All facts considered, he’s a volunteer, same age as Oikawa himself – and that doesn’t necessarily speak of early success through hard work, as he knows of himself – and nothing like any of the advisors Oikawa has worked before. In certain ways, he reminds him of Iwaizumi – his determination, his open-mindedness (why did he bother working for Oikawa’s campaign the way it was before, anyway? He refuses to tell), but he’s not nearly as pleasantly straightforward.

That actually makes it easier, sometimes, considering it's a trait they have in common and that he doesn’t stick his nose in any sort of business that isn’t directly connected to politics. He claims to always be kind and do good deeds without any expectations to be paid back, but Oikawa learns early on that he expects a filled baguette double the size of the Latte Macchiato he gets Oikawa without having been asked.

But all in all, he’s extremely capable and a big help in planning travel dates and getting in touch with the right people. Kuroo’s specialty is finding solutions outside of the box and his competitiveness helps sway people who aren’t very much interested in regarding Oikawa as a changed man.

Weeks follow upon weeks of making drafts, organizing, hiring employees and searching for volunteers. Not many are convinced before they can see visible change, but Oikawa can’t let the campaign die out in his absence.

"Not that I would let it," Kuroo says, rolling his eyes.

He stands with his back to Oikawa’s desk, looking out of the from-ceiling-to-floor window, but his tone is a tell-tale clue. Anyone else would be immediately scolded for such a show of disrespect, but over the month and a half of extremely close-knit cooperation, Oikawa has come to consider Kuroo something above his usual acquaintances. Not quite friends - he doesn’t trust people easily enough for that - but he will let him get away with such small, comfortable things from time to time.

Oikawa puts his elbows on the table, connecting the pads of his fingers, resembling a business company CEO rather than a candidate for the position of Prime Minister.

"You don’t want to come with me," he voices it as a statement, though it’s more of a question.

"It’s not a question of want," Kuroo responds rather quickly for something so ambiguous. Their conversations often consist of that and ironic pretentiousness.

"I would rather have maximum security back at the office than on the outskirts accompanying me," Oikawa half-states, half-whines. He’s been whining a lot lately, just as Kuroo has taken to being preachy. It must be their worst personality traits shining through.

Kuroo turns away from his serenity and walks around the desk, plopping down into a guest chair. "I thought you wanted me to accompany you," he says, with a genuinely confused frown contorting his face. The ambiguousness does get confusing sometimes, after all.

Oikawa complains. "I do, but I don’t."

Kuroo gives him his best _seriously?_ look, since he’s actually trying to understand Oikawa’s point.

"Think it’s the right decision to make," he continues, though his answer from before didn’t really leave any space for additions, tone-wise.

"Someone’s gotta take care of the baby ant house you’re trying to build here, huh," Kuroo says with a fond smile.

Oikawa’s face mirrors his expression for a brief moment, before he swallows audibly. "I’m not gonna… I’m not gonna ask if I can trust you."

"You can’t trust me," Kuroo says immediately, putting one of his elbows on the chair arms.

Oikawa’s lips part to say something, but Kuroo beats him to it.

"But you will, and I promise I will do my utmost best to not let you down."

There are still doubts haunting Oikawa regarding a lot of things that have to do with Kuroo and the campaign, but he decides this is the very best choice he can make right now.

He rises from his own chair to reach his hand over the desk, and Kuroo chuckles quietly before joining the dramatic gesture and shaking it.

"Can’t promise I’ll get the whole country loving you, boss, but we will let your actions speak. With appropriate words."

Oikawa nods in appreciation. Kuroo recently talked Oikawa into hiring a new PR manager, a long-time friend of his, named Kozume Kenma, and he’s been doing his job exceptionally well so far, except for the fact that he insists Kuroo handle the publicity part of his position.

They make a good team, though, as seemingly polar as their personalities may be, and Oikawa can’t help but be reminded of Iwaizumi.

He’s gonna do his best, too.

 

✧✧✧

 

"What is it that you expect from me?"

Here they are again, months later, but it barely feels like anything has changed at all.

It’s noisy and hot, on the opposite to their last encounter, surrounded by an immense crowd of people, some unmistakably paying attention to their conversation, but Oikawa has long since made peace with that. It might even be a factor in his favor, seeing as he’d gone so far to annoy Iwaizumi into talking to him properly that he’s bound to explode from anger again. He’s clearly holding himself back on the account of the cameras.

Iwaizumi’s neck and face are flushed from exertion, and Oikawa regards the color painted across his skin with a sort of fondness he can’t bring himself to hold back. Seeing the other right in front of him, not in the distorted manner the blaring light of his phone’s display tends to depict images, brings a strange relief that Oikawa chooses not to dwell on. It is a little surreal, though, but may Oikawa be damned if he lets the turmoil of feelings raging inside of him show.

Iwaizumi won’t notice, he’s sure, because even though Oikawa’s achieved for him to pose a question to him directly, he won’t look at him, leave alone _through_ him, the way he used to. There’s a painful pull in his stomach that he’s already almost gotten used to after hours of pestering — regret, rejection— but it doesn’t weaken Oikawa’s resolve in the slightest. Encountering Iwaizumi at this march is the only sign he needs that he should keep going.

So what if he actually had other appointments scheduled for the day and the decision to attend this rally was, quite literally, last-minute? So what if he had been researching Iwaizumi’s appearances ever since he left office for his journey? So what if Matsukawa, the advisor he chose to take with him, cracked and told him he personally knows Iwaizumi’s right hand, Hanamaki Takahiro, resulting in Oikawa blackmailing Matsukawa into finding out what Iwaizumi would be up to this week?...

No, fate doesn’t actually matter. It never did anything for Oikawa (besides birth him into a privileged layer of population, of course!). He needs to be determined and persistent about this (unless Iwaizumi tells him to back the hell off, of course! But he would probably have to get him alone for that, first).

"I just want to talk," Oikawa says. He means it, for the time being at the very least.

"Well, I am not particularly interested in holding a conversation with you right now, because I’m too occupied doing what we’re all supposed to be here for, in case you haven’t noticed yet," Iwaizumi responds, gesturing to the people around him and his carefully neutral tone awakens a feeling of déjà-vu in Oikawa.

He’s brushed off, left behind again, and for a moment he wonders if it was unfair of him to approach Iwaizumi in the middle of a nuclear energy protest rally. He catches Matsukawa’s, who marches off to the side, gaze and his reassuring nod, and tries anew.

"I haven’t seen you in a long time," Oikawa says, voice easy and cheery, but not dishonest.

"Can’t complain about that," Iwaizumi speaks through his teeth, though not as an expression of any emotion – or rather lack thereof – but to decrease the chances of somebody reading his lips.

"Mean, Iwaizumi-san," Oikawa chuckles.

"I’ve done a lot of thinking since then," he adds in an attempt to find out whether Iwaizumi has been keeping up with news of him as much as he has.

"Good for you," Iwaizumi says, "but If you were looking for a pat on your shoulder, I’d rather not."

"I told you, I just want to talk, catch up." They still haven’t locked gazes even once.

"Not," Iwaizumi assures, "Interested."

Oikawa deploys another of his tactics: playing dumb.

"I’m confused. Did something change? I was sure we got along so well, even through our toughest debates." _I miss you, I miss what we had._

"Politics is the wrong place to make friendships, Oikawa-san," Iwaizumi says, emphasizing the word _friendships_ , voice dripping with irony. He’s using Oikawa’s own words, own insecurities against him, Oikawa realizes with a genuinely shocked part of his lips. As unexpectedly low as that is, he can’t blame him for it at all.

He breathes in deep. "You asked what I expect from you," Oikawa says, because all of the cards he had hidden up his sleeve are catching on fire, turning to ashes, and there’s nothing else he can do but be honest.

Iwaizumi hums, either signifying he’s still listening, or attempting to trick Oikawa into believing he is, because he still won’t look.

"I think," Oikawa swallows, fiddling with his fingers, "I think the problem is that I expected too much from you to begin with."

"Huh?!"

Well, Iwaizumi sure is looking at him now, but it’s almost not worth it with the expression on his face, a mixture of _What the hell did you just say to me, you little shit_ and _Am I even hearing this right or is this some sort of nightmare_.

But in that moment, with Iwaizumi’s eyes trained on him, wrinkle between eyebrows as pronounced as ever, everything feels saturated to Oikawa.

It feels like the routine of an existence he worked himself into ever since their fall-out never even happened, like he never cried himself to sleep because his parents refused to listen to his attempts to explain his new principles to them.

All that he can remember is his journey, the people he really came to know and appreciate (people like Kuroo and Matsukawa), the values he learned, things that have always been inside of him, only repressed, tucked away so far that even Iwaizumi could do no more than assume of their existence.

It hasn’t stopped feeling strange, his new life, though it has not completely fallen into place yet. There are many acts he has dropped and many he hasn’t, masks he’s gotten rid of and disguises he can’t help but hold on to; but it’s freeing, exhilarating, almost like the way he feels around Iwaizumi, but more steady, more sure.

Whatever happens with him – here, now, or in the future – Oikawa is eternally grateful for Iwaizumi’s acceptance of the part of him he wasn’t ready to show yet. He’s grateful for his faux impatience, grateful for the hits on the back of his head (only in the privacy of either of their homes, of course) because he knows he needed them even when he thought he didn’t want them, didn’t understand why he was supposed to.

Oikawa smiles.

"It’s easy, really," he murmurs quietly, to himself, because he just needs to say it all out loud.

Neither of them notice the stop in their marching, the crowd yelling and chanting around them – or, rather, they notice, but it’s just as relevant as the fact that the sky is blue, or that the summer sun is raining down its heat on them.

One of the demostrants accidentally pushes Iwaizumi with a shoulder, or an elbow, and he stumbles forwards, into Oikawa; but it would be a scene out of a shojo manga if he lost his balance enough to fall into his arms.

And it is not, so Iwaizumi rights himself before the distance between them can shrink too much, become too familiar, as though nothing really changed.

Oikawa manages to grip Iwaizumi’s arm anyway; a soft touch of slender fingers.

"You believed in me, even when I couldn’t, wouldn’t – not only in me, but in the potential for the better you somehow saw behind all of the repulsive things I have said and done. How you did that," Oikawa chuckles, eyes turning glassy, "is beyond me, truly, but I couldn't be more grateful that you were capable of recognizing something kindred, something equal between us, because it changed my life in ways I could not have experienced before meeting you."

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, just the slightest amount, but Oikawa doesn’t pay attention to that change, because no matter how Iwaizumi reacts, he needs to get this off his chest.

"I owe you more than I could possibly attempt to pay off, but I just hope you know your efforts didn’t go to waste, even if I made you feel like they did for the longest time, because I was too stupid and blind and—and—just, thank you."

"Is…" Iwaizumi’s voice sounds impossibly hoarse, as though from days of misuse, "Is that it." Exhausted, too, Oikawa notes, but he doesn’t dare look up from the bow he positioned himself in, making Iwaizumi the taller one, for once.

Oikawa nods.

"Get up then," he says.

" _Shittykawa_."

And suddenly, noise floods into Oikawa’s eardrums, as if he’s coming up from under water, and the sun is still beating down on them relentlessly, and there is still a protest around them, and nothing has changed, but everything is right again.

Oikawa, still bowed, raises a hand to wipe possible tears, only to realize from the tracks on his cheeks that he already has cried all that he had left, and what remains is a puffiness and itchiness he’s going to have to rub away and ice later.

The almost-not-there pressure of Iwaizumi’s fingertips on his shoulder is strangely cooling, even though Oikawa can logically tell that both of their skin should be warm and sweaty, but it feels like he’s made it into a sheltering shadow, a temporary oasis. Though he’s going to have to leave it at some point, it’s not something he has to think about right now.

"Get up," Iwaizumi repeats, and Oikawa obeys, coming face-to-face with him, eyed red, nose probably snotty – he’s always been an ugly crier – and all.

Iwaizumi nods, regarding him, taking his time.

"Thank you," he says, so quietly that he might have just been mouthing it, but Oikawa’s mind, already refamiliarized with the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice, simply filled in the blanks.

Oikawa frowns, but before he can respond in any way, Iwaizumi continues, having cleared his throat and shut his eyes tightly for a few seconds for whatever reason.

"I’m glad I was worth your time, Oikawa."

 _I’m glad I get to fix not being worth yours,_  Oikawa almost says, but holds himself back, because Iwaizumi hasn’t spoken of accepting his apology yet, and he can’t be hasty with this, not after how long he waited and prepared for this.

Something constricting settles inside of Oikawa’s chest, between the bone of his ribs and the flesh of his lungs. It hurts in an entirely different way to when he would lie in bed, the hopeless trains of thought about Iwaizumi and how he would never forgive him like the stab of a knife in his throat, turning and twisting until his face would instinctually contort like a dried apricot and tears would roll over his cheeks, one after another.

This pain is duller, but more consistent, no subconscious awareness of _I’m going to sleep over this and feel better_ accompanying it as a weak reassurance; this is bittersweet and hopeless and _Oh._

This makes sense, Oikawa thinks, and smiles, widely and genuinely, uncaring that the proportions of it are far from the calculated ranges of his smiles on camera.

Iwaizumi clears his throat, again.

"I hope I can expect something from you, this time," it’s half a statement, half a question, in the strangely unsure way he poses it, and the ache inside of Oikawa whines, extends his claws toward the beautiful man before him.

"Whatever you want," Oikawa replies seriously, biting his lip in determination.

A small light settles along the curve of Iwaizumi’s lips, the wrinkles around his eyes, as he grins.

"Be a worthy rival. Don’t be someone I will be ashamed to lose to. Be someone I can boast to have won against."

Oikawa nods, awe in the way he stares, not willing to miss a single word.

Iwaizumi’s hand – has it been on his shoulder the entire time? – slides further down his biceps, to his elbow, along the prominent veins of Oikawa’s arm, stopping just shy of his wrist, where it gives a little squeeze.

"Make me proud, Tooru," he says, and he’s so close now that Oikawa can hear the unsteadiness of his exhale.

Their eyes meet, hold each other’s gaze with strength, before Iwaizumi lets go and makes to turn away, to go back to the rally.

"Hajime," Oikawa calls then, selfishly, because he doesn’t want the moment to end, not before everything has crumbled.

"Yes?" Iwaizumi says, the brief breeze moving the spikes of his hair, the effect of his gel wearing off.

Oikawa grins.

"I will."

**Author's Note:**

> in current japan, the prime minister is chosen by the emperor after the majority of kokkai (the parliament) voted for him or her to do the job. the candidate has to be a member one of the parties that reside in the kokkai, hence the mention of **shūgiin** in the beginning, one of the two houses of the parliament, because it's implied that both oikawa and iwaizumi fulfill this criterion.
> 
> however, the fic's electoral system is rather heavily inspired by the american one, where the people get to vote for the candidates themselves, since it's a future in which countries are expected to assimilate to worldwide society as a whole. the two parties really do exist, if you would like to research them but i did not write oikawa and iwaizumi with those - or any specifics - in mind at all.
> 
> what i tried to convey here is recognizing your position in society vs other people's, connected to their needs and opportunities, and making sure those are heard and understood.  
>   
> here's to a more tolerant 2017 and thank you for reading :)


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